


All There in the Manual

by scribblywobblytimeylimey



Series: Wired [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Dom/sub Undertones, Frottage, Hand Jobs, I mean, I really don't know how you would describe this, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Robot Kink, SHAMELESSLY TERRIBLE pUNS omg though, Sex Toys, Subspace, UST, engineering kink, not quite object sexuality, repressed sexuality, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblywobblytimeylimey/pseuds/scribblywobblytimeylimey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve spends some time in Tony’s workshop and comes to realize just how passionate he is about his inventions. Then he maybe – accidentally – has a sex dream in which he is Tony’s latest AI project. And Tony finally notices that Steve frequently has a hard-on while watching him work. (That’s it. That’s the story.)</p><p>[Now with a sequel.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	All There in the Manual

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'ed. Corrections welcome. One of many 2014 Stony fics - check back soon or follow me on tumblr (same name) for updates.
> 
> How did I end up with such weird kinks? AKA accidental innuendo a-go-go. SERIOUSLY, I DON’T KNOW WHY I FIND THIS HOT

“Such a good boy,” Tony crooned. “I’ve got you. You’ll be finished in no time…”

And Steve really wasn’t sure what to make of that, at first.

He was a bit confused, to be honest. It took him a while, plus a couple of helpful hints from JARVIS, to figure out that Tony’s little monologues to his electricals had a dual-meaning; sexual connotations. Then he wasn’t sure if Tony really was attracted to his robots – the Google had told Steve that there were some people who had a thing for random objects – or if Stark were just employing a higher plane of irony.

The latter was most likely.

After being confused, it made him part uncomfortable, part amused.

“Oh, yes. That’s right…just like that. You’re so good,” was the most memorable part; “I am so totally the best ever,” which immediately followed, was more of a ‘Tony’ thing to hear.

It wasn’t that it happened all the time, or that it was particularly blatant when it did. Tony muttered to himself a lot as he worked; and hummed, and swore, and even beatboxed on a couple of occasions – Steve wasn’t sure he even realized he was doing it.

But he was. And if Tony didn’t notice it, Steve sure did.

It wasn’t _why_ he kept coming down to help out, to run errands. That would have been utterly shameless. But it did provide a little on-job entertainment. Besides, even when he didn’t speak, Tony was just as passionate about what he did. The lightness of his touch as he carried out every movement, the way he caressed each component after fitting it, gazed at it unblinkingly to check it was perfect…

Not that _that_ was why Steve came, either.

But it was admirable how much pride Stark took in his work.

*

They didn’t talk to each other much – not down there. They didn’t need to; Steve learned a lot about Tony without speaking to him. How he didn’t like to make anything more than once; how, when he tried something and it didn’t work, he would sit and stare into space until he went back to the circuits and got it working in ten seconds flat. And if Tony were aware enough to learn anything of Steve, it was that he was a keen learner, quick to follow orders, perfect at holding things steady without complaining while Tony worked his magic.

It wasn’t until one of those holding occasions that Steve finally started to realize what he might think about the inadvertent dirty talking. Because when Steve helped hold something in place, he became almost an extension of the machines – and more than that, he became a part that Tony could seamlessly control with his words (unlike those poor bots that were almost more human than Steve was – making mistakes, knocking things over, misunderstanding Tony’s requests, and always getting a robotic earful of abuse for it).

“Hold it tighter,” was one such request. “Yeah…just like that.”

It was intermingled with the occasional grunt of exertion, and that was when Steve’s pulse really got racing.

“I just need…I need to…” He grunted again, and Steve realized they really should _ban_ that sound. “Okay, how’s that?” He asked breathlessly.

“It’s good,” Steve said, because he couldn’t help himself; and because Tony wasn’t listening anyway, “…You’re so good.”

And he licked his dry lips and he cursed himself and cursed himself and cursed himself.

Tony gave a gasp. “Oh, there…that’s it – almost there, now…that’s right…just _there_ , Steve…”

And Steve tried his darndest not to squirm, because that would have messed up the wiring big time. He was going to have to find somewhere to move as soon as Tony lost focus, because he was embarrassingly far gone. Zero to sixty faster than an Iron Man suit. Honestly, all things considered, he didn’t know how it hadn’t happened before. God knew this was the most sexual his life had gotten in 70-odd years. _Don’t look away from the circuits, Tony, for the love of God – do not look up at me._

“So close,” he murmured, face as flushed as Steve felt. “So close…I’m…”

He had a famous little gasp reserved for when he created perfection in electrical form, and this time when Steve heard it, he thought it might have gotten his boxers a little damp.

When he jacked off in the bathroom afterwards, coming hard into a wad of toilet paper and trying to stifle his breath against his arm, all he could see was that little twinkle in Tony’s eyes every time he worked out how to solve a problem with a diode.

*

He decided Tony definitely didn’t know how he sounded. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

For better or for worse, Steve just couldn’t imagine Tony acting like that towards a human.

“How does it feel?” He’d asked at one point.

“Tight,” Tony breathed in response. “It’s tight. I’ll get it. I’ll get it…just…”

The sound of him when he trailed off into his thoughts set Steve’s imagination alight. He would have closed his eyes, if he could. Why he tortured himself like this, he just didn’t know – he knew he couldn’t ease the aching heat trapped in his jeans. 

Well.

When Tony was so deep in his own head, Steve probably _could_ have gone at it right there without him so much as batting an eyelid. But aside from the tiny matter of mutual respect, it was easier to untuck his shirt and hide a bulge in his pants than explain why he was stood there with an exposed erection.

He wasn’t sure, either, what it was about it that _got_ to him, got under his skin. It wasn’t like he’d ever thought about Tony in this way before he started helping out. He didn’t really think about that sort of thing too much anyway – and even now, it wasn’t like he actually wanted to _do_ anything with Tony, necessarily.

It just got him really fucking hard when he talked like he was fucking him.

*

“God. Damn it.”

“I don’t think it’s gonna fit, Tony-“

“It’ll fit,” he snapped breathlessly. He was on his back, on the floor, and it looked to Steve like a car part he was working on, but when Tony had first hauled it down, he had his jacket off and was down there before Steve could think to ask. Whatever it was, it had good suspension.

The nail fell out again.

Tony put it back in place with a growl. Steve was on his knees by his head: Tony had demanded the angle be just right for seeing into…whatever it was. It was braced against Steve’s hip quite comfortably, until Tony decided to push it into place, and a groove in the side facing Steve somehow managed to cup his cock precisely.

This was presumably karma for watching Tony sweat and fiddle with the little bits of metal in his oily hands a _bit_ too attentively.

“Um.”

Tony ignored him, enunciating every whack of the hammer. “I. Fucking. Hate. Old. Tech.”

With every hit to the bottom of it, it slid up Steve’s length, and he felt his mouth open wide as his nails tried to penetrate the paint job. “Tony.”

“Don’t you dare move.”

Steve let out a gasp. The friction was like nothing he’d ever think of using to get off, but in this state – hard and sensitized and on his knees – it would be all he could do _not_ to. All it was was a little bit of pressure in a rocking motion, and it should never have been enough, but any contact at all was just too much. He felt himself throb shamelessly, squirm just right, and squirm from trying not to squirm. He tried to hold it steady with just his hands and back away. “Tony, can I just put it-“

“Steve,” he warned again. “So help me, I will…oh, yes, look at that – right there, there’s a good boy now…”

Steve groaned, and it nearly slipped out from beneath his sweaty fingers. “Are – are you talking to me?”

“Oh, you’re so good – it’s alright, I’ll take care of you…”

“Apparently not,” he breathed, then “Ah – oh God – Tony, I really think I need to put it-“

“It’s going to feel so good,” he muttered, humming a non-note of pleasure as the nail seemed to finally slip in. “Shh…shh…I won’t hurt you…we just have to get this inside you…”

“-Down,” Steve groaned softly, shuddering, resisting the urge to buck his hips, voice the moans that were cracking into gasps in his mouth like waves gently breaking. “Are you even listening to me?” He breathed, head in a spin.

“Just…a…few…more…times…”

Another low groan rolled out of him and he bit his lip. “Tony. Please. Let me just rest it – my leg’s falling asleep-“

Oh god, he was going to come. The sheer embarrassment, the force of the realization, was enough to stave him off into a cold sweat for just a few moments longer. Oh, god. He had to get out of here. How on earth was he going to hide it? No, he just had to hold back…

White-hot pleasure and humiliation shot through him with each movement. _Please no. Please, don’t. Don’t come on the paint job. Don’t come on the paint job…_

But with one last forceful hit of the hammer he bit his tongue, cried out Tony’s name and couldn’t even disguise his moan as anything other than climactic. He shuddered from the top of his arched-back head to his curled toes, then froze even as his cock kept pulsing wetness, pressing himself tight against the metal and breathing hard, face red-hot, sweat sticking his t-shirt to his back, not daring to look at Tony as what felt like the world’s most conspicuous evidence started to make its way down his thigh. His face was burning so hot, in fact, that he couldn’t even feel the heat leaving it, anymore. Brilliant. He had warmed the whole room to the temperature of a humiliated, post-orgasmic super-soldier.

“Awesome,” Tony said, “I think that’s it done.”

Steve, shaking from the effort of remaining upright, cracked open his eyes. 

Tony didn’t seem to be looking at him. Well, perfect. Just fantasic. He wasn’t sure how he was going to move without making even more of a sticky mess, though. Or how he was about to hide said mess. Oh god, he’d just come in his pants. He wasn’t sure he’d ever done that while conscious. And even then, not for…well, more than 80 years, technically…

“I’m gonna go grab some things from upstairs,” Tony announced from underwater and far away. “Thanks for helping out.”

Steve heard himself drawing in a long breath through his nose. He might have nodded. Several years later, he heard the door at the top of the stairs.

He let out a huge breath, blinking rapidly.

_Okay._

_What even the hell was that that just happened. **Did** it just happen?_

And _Get out of here, now. Before your luck runs out._

He whipped out a handkerchief and cleaned up as best he could, and nearly broke his ankle tripping on the damn thing on his way out.

 

*****

 

He can’t stop.

He just cannot stop thinking about it.

And he still hasn’t figured it out by the time he starts dreaming about it, though sleeping it over doesn’t help him out much either. If anything, he’s more confused than ever by the time he wakes up.

It starts like any normal dream. Steve is sitting on a counter in Tony’s workshop; he can’t move or speak, and he’s made of cold, hard, shiny, gold metal.

Totally normal.

Then Tony switches on those cool, low lights of his and gives him a quick glance over, appraising. “Still my finest piece of work,” he announces to himself. “How are you doing today, gorgeous?” He pours a little oil in the joints at Steve’s jaw. He hadn’t known how stiff and dry he was until then.

“I’m good.”

“Got a problem in your chassis. I’m going to fix you up real nice, though.” His hand palms down the smooth metal of Steve’s torso, quick flash, just the way he strokes all his bots. “I won’t be letting you get outdated any day soon…”

“What are you going to do to me?” His jaw’s still stiff, and Tony oils him up again until it feels like he’s salivating.

“Got a nice little mod, really pretty bit of code; just got to replace this one chip…” He fingers his way down the body until his hand reaches a panel where Steve’s crotch should be. He has nothing there – just smooth, hard metal. Nevertheless, his whole chassis suddenly goes live, and he angles his hip joints just subtly towards his master.

“Okay.” His voice is robotic, and he has no lungs, so he can’t sound as breathless as he feels, or as hot. “Give it to me.”

Tony’s head’s between his legs, and he’s got the oil can at the ready for anywhere it’s applicable, though Steve feels plenty slick enough. Tony’s grounded to the floor by a bracelet of his own design, and he doesn’t touch, not with his fingers, but the tools he does use come into contact with parts of Steve he didn’t know he had in ways he didn’t know existed, like they were made to fit them, and it feels so good – Tony loosening and tightening his nuts and bolts perfectly, and the way that he finally starts screwing him…

“How’s that?” Tony breathes, always checking his creation is alright. “Is that good?”

“Yes, master.” Nothing’s ever felt better. Tony’s making him feel like he was made to feel.

“Raise your arms for me.”

“Yes, master.”

“Good boy…such a good boy…”

He’s never felt so charged. He’s not sure what this is building up to – perhaps he’s about to explode.

“How do you feel?”

“So close.” He’s not built to stutter, to gasp or to moan. All he can do is tell him, over and over again, like a glitch on the brain made solely of Tony. “So good, master. So close. So good.”

“Gonna jump start you…just a quick, sharp shock or two,” Tony says, but it’s more than that; it’s over, and over, and again, and he thinks it might hurt, but he knows it feels divine, and he wishes he could scream, scream out loud…

When he wakes up, he has a pounding headache and his sheets are soiled. He’s never felt so dirty in his life. He’s scared he might like it.

*

He doesn’t want to think about how much Tony would laugh if he ever found out. He’s had enough “golden boy” jokes for a lifetime already, thank you very much.

Otherwise, he’d be grossed out by it. Judging by the fact Tony’s never had an erection in the workplace, everything from “Come to papa” to “easy, tiger” is meant entirely innocently in the context of his absent-minded tinkering. Even when he says it breathlessly. Even when Steve’s almost close enough to fuck him.

Not that Steve’s been checking out his crotch.

Much.

*

It’s a hot, sunny Sunday outside Tony Stark’s cool, dark basement; the hum of electricity, not cicadas, is in the air with them down here. But Steve could really go for a cold drink right about now. He’s trying not to focus on the way Tony’s t-shirt keeps riding up so slightly on the V of his hips. He’s trying not to wonder how noticeable it would be if he borrowed a tool from down here (that hammer he used on his car part, maybe) and gave it a thorough disinfection before…

“Hey, Steve?” Tony says, with all the timing of a thoroughly embarrassed mind-reader, and Steve jumps with all the severity of a boy caught masturbating in the confessional. “Could you go fetch me a spark plug wrench?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve says as he turns, then bites his lip, winces and freezes, thanking God he isn’t facing Tony. He shakes his head and hurries to the cupboard, _hoping_ to God that that didn’t sound as bad as he thought and Tony won’t read too much into it. 

At least he hadn’t called him “master”, or something.

He hands the wrench over without looking at Tony, unsure if he’s imagining the tension in the room; when he glances up on his way back to his counter, Tony’s gaze is still fixed on his work.

They manage to work on in silence, except for that humming; and Steve’s sure the effort of his thinking clean and rational thoughts is contributing somewhat to the background drone. Tony’s face is still focused, but it doesn’t seem like he’s thinking about what he’s doing. His hand slips once or twice.

Eventually, he drops the wrench onto the counter and puts his palms flat on the edge. He clears his throat. “We need to talk.”

Steve’s mind whites out and his nerves collapse like a pack of cards. From what he’s gathered, the sort of conversation that follows in these circumstances is a lot more level and a lot less violent than in the 40s, but that doesn’t preclude him from having a heart attack himself.

Tony turns around and walks over to him, _oh god, untuck your shirt, **untuck it**_ \- but before he can move or even speak, Tony’s hands are on his hips, guiding him round and back until his ass hits hard metal. “Up on the counter.”

Steve obeys silently. Tony’s eyes don’t meet his – they are, god help him, on the hard line of Steve’s pants. He twitches under his gaze; he’s never been so mortified, so paralysed with shock he can barely even shiver when Tony runs his hands up his thighs. 

He’s standing right there between his legs, fingers inches from his cock, and Steve has a sudden flashback to a dream he once had where Tony opens him up and fixes the circuitry inside him.

That’s when Tony sinks to his knees, still perched right there between Steve’s, and he can feel his breathe along his thigh, his cock pulsing shamelessly even at the displaced contact. His eyes flick up to Steve’s, full of a static charge waiting to jump. He’s not sure where to. He’s not even sure if it’s positive or negative.

Tony’s eyes move back down, and he simply mutters, “I thought I had issues.” Steve opens his mouth, aggravated, but then Tony presses his lips to his clothed cock and all that comes out is a short, rough moan. He’s unbuttoning his shirt, still smothering his lips to Steve’s cock, hands-free, and shrugging it back off his shoulders and onto the floor. “You can’t work like this.”

“I manage fine,” Steve says weakly, stars in his eyes, and when Tony raises his eyebrow he realizes he really shouldn’t have said that.

“How long has this been happening?” He says, looking at him thoughtfully right between his legs, and oh god, he’s starting to analyse this, work it through like a faulty connection, and Steve’s not sure if this is good or bad, but given the filthy kiss he just gave him through his pants, he’s inclined to be hopeful.

“That one time we were working on your back chassis,” he said in a rush, his own back arching as Tony runs a fingertip sideways along the cleft between his head and his shaft. “When you said you were…close. And…almost there.”

“Did I say that?” Tony mused.

Steve gritted his teeth. “You’d better believe it.” He’s half-hoping this is just another dream.

He’s half-not.

Tony unbuttons his fly. “You know,” he says, just so casually. “I can work on my gauntlet any time. You should have just let me know you needed my help.”

“I…” Tony’s hand is on him, and oh god, he is so rock hard – and then he pulls him out of his boxers, gives him one lick to taste, and Steve’s hips buck up with a sharp intake of breath.

Tony tuts gently. “Can’t get any moisture on the electricals, Steve. You know what it would do to them.” He flicks out his tongue, levels his gaze to meet Steve’s, and licks the trail of precum all the way back up to the slit.

Steve’s eyes are closed, or otherwise he can’t see. He slowly unclenches his hands from around Tony’s shoulders when he realizes how tight he’s holding him.

“Mm-hmm,” Tony hums, sounding almost amused. “I see the problem here.”

Steve whimpers as he mouths his way along that ridge again.

“It’s just a maintenance issue,” Tony continues. “You need to fuck my face on a _much_ more regular basis.”

And with that, he sinks him right into his mouth.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve echoes almost noiselessly. He grips Tony’s t-shirt hard.

He’s doing nothing special, just back and forth, like he can _taste_ how hard Steve’s cock is and knows that anything more than this won’t go on for long – but then he stops moving, like he’s just realized this and wants to savor it (did he say it wasn’t special? Because it is all pretty incredibly special) and wraps his tongue around him to caress, measuring, mapping.

He draws back, lips so slick and wet against the coarse stubble around them.

“You are into humans, then,” Steve breathes, trying to joke before the sight of him ruins his control.

Tony raises an eyebrow perfectly again. “What made you think I wasn’t?” He reaches up and cups him, rolls him, full and tightening.

He’s going to lose it all the same. The next breath is a struggle. “Just…the way you talk to your machines…”

Soft laughter. “The machines don’t get on my last fucking nerve, unlike virtually every person I could care to mention. But I’m not inclined to fuck them, no.”

Steve’s head spins from the implications. He touches Tony’s face and says his name, but he means _“Tony, kiss me”, “Tony, come up here”, “Tony…”_

They’re kissing, and Tony’s oil-stained hands are marking up his white t-shirt, but Steve’s done his fair share of the dirty work and Tony’s ass does not remain unstained for long. Better than that, though, Steve can feel his cock against his thigh, standing to attention, just like it never was for the diodes, and his breath is hot and wet and alive.

They unzip him together.

Tony’s hands are more than big enough for both of them. Steve can feel his toes curling, feet curving around Tony’s legs.

His mouth is so hot when it moves against Steve’s neck. “Is this alright?” In Steve’s peripheral vision, Tony’s elbow, his bare, tanned, muscled arm, is moving, jerking up and down, not too fast, not too slow.

Steve would answer if he could. It’s all he can do not to just throw his head back and drool. He manages to nod. “Just like this,” he gasps, and Tony nods back, and they slide against each other and moan as he speeds up.

He’s a quivering, sweating wreck before long, and moaning Tony’s name not long after that. There’s nothing he can do to keep his legs from shaking, and he’s suddenly very glad he’s not a robot.

*


End file.
